


VID_001.WMV

by Rrrowr



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Masturbation, Other, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-20
Updated: 2012-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrrowr/pseuds/Rrrowr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The webcam video of Darren masturbating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	VID_001.WMV

The video has the stort of fuzzy quality common to webcams. The color is dull, almost greyed out in the lighting. Still, details are discernable. The room being filmed is a bedroom — small with white walls, a bookcase and a guitar against the far wall, and the corner of a bed and a bedstand. A stocky body obscures the bulk of the room, visible from collar to thigh.

His face isn’t in view yet. He’s leaning over the computer, fussing with the webcam’s position, apparently, since the view shakes and the sound cracks as the camera moves. When it settles finally, the bed is the focus — the edges of it picked out on either side of his body.

“There, we go,” he says, but it’s only when he drops back to sit on the edge of the bed that his identity is confirmed: Darren. He waves at the camera sort of sheepishly. “Hey.”

His hair is slightly long, grown out enough now that it’s starting to curl more visibly around his ears, and his beard too is beginning to show. He scratches at his chest as he lapses into silence, chewing on his lower lip, and then nervously rubs at the top of his thighs. Then, huffing a breath, he grins at the camera.

“Alright, little disclaimer,” he says, leaning forward, “I’m about to do something I may regret in the morning, so if you’re related to me, please — please — stop watching immediately. Thanks.”

Then he takes off his shirt.

Darren is a bit round around the waist when viewed from the side — with a slight belly above the belt — but his chest is thinner, still concave with youth but with muscle bulking him up around the shoulders and in the arms. He leans back on his bed, scooting until he’s got his back against the far wall, and balls up his shirt before tossing it off camera. He rubs at his chest, palm over his nipples and fingers through chest hair and then down in one long, sweeping gesture until he’s cupping himself through his jeans and squeezing at his cock.

He stays like that for a few seconds, just palming himself thoughtfully while his mouth drops open in a soft gasp, and then he’s flicking open his fly and unzipping himelf and palming himself that way, with his hand in the confined space of his jeans, caught between his underwear and the angle of his zipper. He grunts. One shoulder hitches up as he rubs at his cock and the other drops down when he hooks the thumb of his free hand in the back of his jeans and starts shoving them down.

For a few tugs, his efforts are completely ineffectual. His jeans aren’t going anywhere, so biting down on his lower lip, Darren pulls his hand out of his pants. He uses both hands to push down both his jeans and underwear — though only as far as midthigh — and freed and half hard, his cock springs toward his hip.

Darren doesn’t go back to touching himself immediately. He slides one hand into his hair, stroking through the relatively short strands and down his neck to hook behind his shoulder. The other he uses to press at his belly, at the line of hair below his belly button, and his fingers are just close enough to tease his cock with some barely-there touch. That hand he pulls back up his body, rubbing over a nipple again when he passes them, and he licks a long stripe over it, from the heel of his palm to his fingers. Then, it’s right back down his body, scooping up his cock and tugging slowly at it until it starts to lengthen, coming to full hardness.

He pulls at his cock in short jerks, fingers never sliding more than an inch and halting just under the flushing head before shifting back down. His hips roll against his strokes. The movement is minute, slight and involuntary, and his jeans creak, complaining at being stretched to their limits when he tries to spread his legs. His breath comes out of him in light huffs, chest rising and falling uneavenly as his breath catches in his throat. Pinkness is starting to flood across his cheeks and sweat beads up around his shoulders and along his hairline, darkening the strands and making them stick to his skin.

His fingers slip once, squeezing around the tip of his cock instead of stopping where he intends them to, and Darren hisses, squeezing at his cock tightly. His lashes flutter for a second as he holds himself and this time, the grunt is a bit louder, easily picked up by the computer’s microphone. Then, he unhooks his other hand from behind his shoulder and brings his feet up on the bed to lift his thighs off the mattress. He shoves his jeans down further, past his knees to his ankles, before dropping back down. Still jacking at his cock, he kicks the rest of his clothes onto the floor, even his socks, which get toed off.

Looking around him, Darren scrubs at his hair, shoving it off his forehead, and then leans toward his bedside stand, fishing around in the top drawers contents before pulling out a bottle of lube. His motions are rather efficient here: uncapping the lube with a flick of his thumb and pouring a bit into his other palm before setting the bottle aside.

The results, however, are notable. With his cock properly slicked, his strokes are longer and a bit faster. He sits up, propped on one arm, and his legs are spread over the side of the bed. His body is one curving line that hunches over the focus of his attention.

He pants now, jerking himself with a tight grip. It seems to be a bit much for him. He can only slide his hand over his cock for a few, quick times before he has to take a second to regroup, fingers tight just above his balls. His head sags — chin to his chest, mouth dropped open, eyes fully shut, and hair falling around his face in thick locks — and a quiet moan slips out, along with a curse.

He tosses his head back, shaking his hair out of his eyes again, and his hips shift toward the edge of the bed, legs spreading that much further. “Fuck,” he says.

Here is the one and only time that he makes eye contact with the camera since he started touching himself. It’s only a moment — a barely there lift of his lashes to look down his nose at the camera. He smiles, though: pleased, thrilled, and just a bit smug. Then, he starts jacking himself off with true purpose, twisting his hand around his cock and pulling at his length with such speed that it becomes a blur on the screen.

He’s shaking. It can be heard in his breath, shuddering and trembling in his chest. When he comes, it’s with a tight groan, fingers catching under the head, and the first thread falls across his chest, climbing all the way to his collarbone. He laughs, head still tilted back, and keeps milking himself of everything, until there’s come across his belly and in the hair leading to his cock, until the last of it swells over his fingers.

He stays like that for a moment, breathing hard and squeezing around the tip of his cock to gather all the come between his index finger and thumb. He’s still a little hard as he pushes himself from the edge of the bed. When he slinks toward the desk chair, his cock bobs with the movement, looking wet and slick in the computer light.

Then Darren drops into the chair, blood flushing his cheeks to a bright pink, with a thoughtful sort of expression on his face as he looks at his come-covered fingers. He doesn’t quite look at the camera, but he’s obviously putting on a finishing touch to his show as he plays with the come, smearing it between his fingers and sliding it along the side of his hand.

“Should I?” he says — breathless. There’s a little smile working at the corner of his mouth. His tongue peeks out from between his teeth.

He sucks off his thumb first.

He just sticks it in his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he pulls back the first time and then his tongue sweeps out on the second dip of his head. He pulls back his lips when he finds the knuckle with his teeth and the skin whites out in their wake. He licks his lips as he considers the rest of the come on his hand, tongue making a smacking noise against the back of his teeth.

“Not bad,” he murmurs, then tucks his thumb against his palm and slides his mouth along the side of his hand.

He makes shameless sucking noises as he cleans the rest of his hand off, mouthing at each finger and sticking his tongue over the webbing until it’s all gone. He even wipes at the corner of his mouth when he’s done.

“Not bad at all.”

Then, Darren, with his fingers poking at the keyboard in an almost perky manner, cuts the video off.


End file.
